


I Have Measured Out My Life with Coffee Spoons

by orphan_account



Series: Drabbles [12]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M, starbucks obsession
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-06
Updated: 2012-10-06
Packaged: 2017-11-15 18:00:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/530102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“<i>Dude</i>, this is the best part of fall.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Have Measured Out My Life with Coffee Spoons

**Author's Note:**

> For my ever lovely Stisaac Pack Buddy, Jenni! We were talking about Stisaac and I gave her the go ahead to prompt whatever she wanted whenever and she gave me “You should do something with Pumpkin Latte.”
> 
> So I did. (Title is a quote from T. S. Eliot)

 “Dude,  _dude_.”

Isaac’s lips quirk in an amused grin, obscured slightly by the scarf wrapped around his neck and tickling his skin. Beside him, Stiles is similarly bundled up, chattering excitedly and exerting endless gusts of blueish chilled air as his hot words hit late fall air.

“ _Dude_ , this is the best part of fall.”

Isaac just continues to grin.

Stiles stops suddenly, then seems to think better of it and pulls Isaac along a little faster, still talking and Isaac hangs on like he can’t afford to miss a word. “And, dude, seriously, thanks for coming with. It’s just not the same to have your first pumpkin spice latte of the year  _alone_. And legit no one else wanted to come?”

Stiles halts again and backpedals, verbally, furiously. “Dude, not that you were a last choice or anything. First it was Scott and then Derek and then I thought I’d turn it into a pack thing and you were the only person who said yes so.”

Isaac nods absent mindedly, and grabs the door before Stiles can; Stiles tilts his head in thanks and slides inside, the scent and warmth of fresh brewed coffee wafting around him. Isaac keeps at Stiles’ heels as they get in line, mercifully short. Isaac barely listens as Stiles rambles on and on about this latte, about how it’s the best, and about how it kills him that it isn’t a year round flavor—and okay, maybe Isaac makes use of his enhanced hearing to both listen to Stiles’ inane but endearing chatter, to listen to the excited but steady rhythm of his heart, all while using his other senses to take in how well the scent of coffee and fall mesh with Stiles’ natural scent.

His natural odor, that feels a lot younger than Derek’s, but like Isaac’s—hurt and made by stronger by it, been through hell and come through in one piece, one living piece. Sometimes, Stiles’ scent will prick at Isaac’s skin, like little needle holes as Stiles bleeds into his life, into him, day by day.

“Dude? Dude?” Stiles draws out the ‘uuuu’ of an already over exaggerated ‘dude.’ “I’m buying today, okay, cuz you’ve never  _ever_  had one,” and Stiles seems to relish the appalled gasps from the fellow Starbucks-goers. “Next time, though.”

Isaac grins around the fabric of his scarf. “Next time.” He promises.

Stiles beams at him and tugs him by the loose jacket sleeve over to the waiting area. In weirdly abrupt silence, they watch mothers and daughters and grandpas and bikers and secretaries and teachers come and go and grab their coffees, the scents of caramel and pumpkin heavy around them. It makes Isaac sleepy, and when he sways on his feet, Stiles jokes. “You need this latte more than I thought.”

Isaac doesn’t bother correcting him, because Stiles doesn’t move away from holding him up, however unnecessary it may be. It’s nice, warm, makes Isaac’s eyes droop and his chest rumble in an aborted purr.

Finally, their lattes are resting on the counter and Stiles grabs them before ushering Isaac out of the shop. “Too crowded.” He complains, handing over Isaac’s latte and staring, mesmerized, at his own.

Isaac tugs down his scarf, just enough to bring the scalding hot liquid to his lips. It doesn’t hurt as much as it might’ve before. Being a werewolf means superior everything, including tongues. The taste Is perfect. Like a slow melting chocolate, except with none of the richness and all of the familiar warmth and pleasant coiling of  _happiness_  in his stomach, lining his throat and making him a little dizzy where he stands. It’s no wonder Stiles is practically ready to  _kill_  for one of these

Stiles coughs, and Isaac is forced out of his pumpkin spice daze. “Dude, you’ve got. Just.” Stiles points, but Stiles’ fingers are crazed and his motions as ever wacky as always, so Isaac just stares back. “On your lip, the cream and foam—just,” Stiles sighs, takes a step closer, and brushes his thumb along a spot on Isaac’s upper lip. “There you go.”

“Thanks.” Isaac croaks. Stiles just grins back, sipping at his own latte with smug polluting his scent. Isaac makes an unhappy, pinched face, and Stiles nudges him.

Stiles grins. “You like?”

Isaac just nods as he takes another sip, and licks his lips after to be sure to catch any wayward cream or foam. He doesn’t miss the way Stiles’ eyes follow the movement, and it’s Isaac’s turn to be smug.

Isaac finishes his first, and Stiles seems a little scandalized that he didn’t savor it as much as possible. Stiles is still leisurely and reverently sipping his own as they walk up the front steps to his porch.

“So, thanks again.” Stiles gets out between deep sips.

Isaac shoves his hands in his pockets. “Not a problem. Anytime.” He says genuinely.

Stiles smiles back, and raises his cup in a mock cheers gesture. “I’ll keep that in mind.” He says, then he’s catching the rumpled part of Isaac’s scarf in a clenched hand, and tugging Isaac just that much forward to press an off-target kiss to the corner of his lips. “See you Monday.”

It isn’t until Stiles is inside and Isaac can hear his victory dance that Isaac answers with, “yeah Monday.”


End file.
